


Forward March

by orangeangora



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, American Civil War RPF, Free State of Jones, Historical RPF
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeangora/pseuds/orangeangora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton Knight makes a hard decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forward March

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

As the war wears on, things begin to blur until you find that your dreams are replicas of the nightmares that your days have become. Either way, it's constant: the dust, the dirt, the sweat, the discomfort, the blood. Always the blood. But compared to the dead and the dying, you are the lucky one; any irritations you feel: the cramp in your right calf, the burning in your shoulder, the blister on your heel are inconsequential because at least you're up and moving; you're going to wake up and see another dawn, no matter how grim. You'll still have your problems, but at least you'll be alive to have them.

The sights you see on the battlefield will remain seared in your memory. You can temporarily forget, but never for good. The smells will remain, as well: fear, panic, and the more concrete ones of bullet-pierced flesh. So, too, will the sounds: the screams of the injured, the whinnying of the horses: poor, dumb beasts even less equipped and more helpless than those they carry. If God wished to convert more souls and set them upon the path to Heaven, surely, He could do worse than provide a preview of what Hell must be like. No atheists, so goes the saying, in a foxhole.

Yet through it all, men keep marching without hesitation, rifles raised, and just as steadily are picked off, one by one, by the enemy. The "enemy" - could there be a less meaningful word at this point? Do any of you truly believe in the cause that first brought you here? Many are here for abstract sounding reasons: honor, freedom, justice - all weak reeds to cling to in a storm. Regardless of what they believe or don't, your companions die unexpectedly; the blessed are those who go instantly. Those who linger here on Earth, have the toughest road to travel, with wounds that take their own sweet time in killing them.

You do what you can to soothe the pain, but all-too-often, all you do is mask it. You enlisted as a medic because saving lives seemed preferable to ending them, regardless of who was on the other end of the rifle. Killing someone's brother or father or cousin, well, there's no honor in that.

When he first appears, you take him for an apparition; surely you must be hallucinating this familiar but disheveled figure, but yes, in fact, it is your nephew. What is he doing there? Well, there's an easy answer to that, of course; he's been conscripted. But really, what in the name of God is he doing here? He's still a boy. Not a man, not even close. This is no place for a child.

But there's no time to agonize. You quickly assure him that you'll look out for him. Now you have two jobs: tending to the wounded and keeping an eye on him, but you don't mind, or more accurately, don't have time to think about it one way or the other. You just act, dragging him along with you, trying to avoid the worst of the battle. Still, you fail, you can't save him, you realize this right away. The only thing you can do is stay with him, as the breath leaves his once hale body.

Once you would have wept, but that time is long past. Maybe you've run out of tears permanently; you don't know. It seems wrong to you that you're his only relation present, not his father or his brother, but suppose you will have to do.

As you move his body out of harm's way - the only thing you can do at this point is give him a proper burial, you remember something your friend told you the other day - that a surefire way to avoid one more day of this misery is to acquire at least twenty slaves, and then you're home free. This doesn't set right with you at all; you've been suspecting for some time that there's an injustice here, but this brings it suddenly into focus. Clearly, the wealthy have the advantage here, and you're no longer sure that it's worth it to be doing their dirty work for them. Your grandfather, if he were of conscription age, could avoid the grim fate of so many, but your father wouldn't agree; he's never supported slavery.

Neither, of course, do you. You shake your head, feeling dizzy, and uncap your canteen, stopping yourself just in time from gulping every drop down. And suddenly, you know what you're going to do.

You're going home, or to put it bluntly, deserting. Not a palatable thought; you've always been taught not to quit when the going gets tough or turn your back on companions in need, and well, that's exactly what you're doing at the moment.

But you keep walking, step by step, in your dust-caked boots away from your regiment, leaving them to face the enemy without you. There's guilt mixed up in all this, even shame for leaving your companions behind, but you simply can't fight for something that once appeared substantial, but is in realty, a sham.

You notice, however, that your newfound disgust for all this does not prevent you from falling into the familiar rhythm.

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

For a moment, you let yourself imagine going back, after all. there must be some way to explain your temporary absence, but no, you can't do that. Forget your companions for now; think of other, more practical things like where you're going to sleep tonight, what you're going to eat, and how soon someone will notice and try to track you down.

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

Left. Left. Left, right, left.

With each step, it grows easier. You keep going, you start thinking less about what you've done, and more about what you're going to do. You start wondering why you didn't do this sooner, but know that you can only see the truth in God's time, it isn't possible to see it before He's ready to show it to you.

Yes. You've made the right decision.

It's time to be going home.


End file.
